Hate
by Mikeala-and-Whitney
Summary: Rotti Largo has the lowest tolerance for failure, and his vultures are nothing but the sort.


Title: Hate

Summary: Rotti Largo has the lowest tolerance for failure, and his vultures are nothing but the sort.

Warning(s): Rotti's a bit of a dick in this fic. But when isn't he?

A/N: This is for my friend Lebz/Keen-Incisions, as I know how much she enjoys angst…or at least I think she does. Hope you all enjoy, sorry it's so short.

Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

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Rotti Largo sat at his desk, his eyes stared darkly at his desk, most especially what was on the desk. Tablets, pictures, and disgrace.

He scowled deeply, his fingers moved as they flipped each page. Every and each of the tablets he'd been handed, had pictures of each of his children. There was his heir chopping off fingers of some lousy mouse from the GENtern section of GENEco. Luigi didn't even have any dignity to hide himself away from the camera. His oldest son simply stood there, butcher knife in hand, arm raised and blood all over his face. Rotti could just see a leg sticking out from behind a crate on the floor, obviously this wasn't the only victim in this picture.

Luigi disgusted him. What man couldn't keep his anger in check for five seconds? This is why they had to replace the entire floor of face transplants. After Amber's hundredth botched surgery, Luigi had taken it upon himself to slit the throats of each and every last one.

He wasn't quite sure what exactly the obsession with knives and Amber was when Luigi was concerned, however he knew he detested that as well. Luigi would hop through hoops to please Rotti, then he would go off the handle, ending up on the tongues of each and every person at a party after carving out a coffee assistant's heart and giving it as a gift to Amber. Sick obsessions, what a loathsome creature this spineless thing was. The creature that embodied the image of rage wasn't his son, it was another asset—another failed experiment.

Rotti sneered at the photo one last time before he slammed it down hard enough for the screen to create a thick crack. He brushed the broken tablet aside with one swoop of his hand, eyes shut tightly and a deep shaky breath. He could feel the tightening in his throat, eventually a thought came out—harsh and loud.

He reached over, yanking a tissue from the box. Rotti wiped his mouth and didn't even have to look at it to know the tar was on it. He tossed the wasted tissue into the trash can at his side. Luigi left his thoughts just as the rageful vulture had come.

At least the boy was not as repulsive as Paviche though.

Pavi. His second son, his second child, his second mistake. He looked over the tablets, seeing glimpses of different pictures. His other failure. His other little vulture that crept around his company. It made his body shake with anger, how degrading they all made his family. The business man, the hero, the savior of the world and this is what was he was rewarded with.

He could remember this one being at just the age of seventeen. Pavi was a good boy, Pavi would do whatever asked of him, even if it was simply to keep his trap shut. Then those eyes of his started wandering on the GENterns, on Pavi's birthday they found the bodies of three women in an alleyway. It was passed off as the Repo Man, even if it was mere whispers of it being this, any other news channel said it was a random attack of a mad man high off of Zydrate.

What lies could be spread with a bit of maneuvering from Rotti's skillful hands, it had taken a lot of lives and gold to shut that one down. Pavi had a habit after that of moving his room closer and closer to the GENtern quarters, a habit of letting his own fingers slip and monthly headcounts had to be made just to keep that department running in GENEco.

Rotti could see on a few tablets, his second oldest, the boy was in his early adult years and this was how he spent them. Paviche was bent over one photo, a girl strapped down to a chair, and Pavi himself had on a tank top. Most likely this had been take after or during last night's party, the festiveness had been grand. They had made quite a profit in fact, though Rotti had been far too busy with other situations such as Blind Mag.

Pavi in another photo had a hold of something in gloved hands, how this photo was taken without his son's knowledge was unbeknownst to him. By the time Rotti looked at another photo, to his annoyance, he realized that his son had most likely posed for these pictures. The narcissistic little runt.

There was blood splatter on the lens in that photo, suggesting foul play but of course only Pavi would go beyond for the viewer of these. Did his son know that he would be looking at them? He kept up his permanent glare at the photos, tossing those tablets out too with the others.

The thought these scenarios would be playing out did not cross his mind, not as often as they should. Ah, and there were the last of the tablets. His fingers picked one up, head tilting a fraction to the left that time.

His Amber.

His little opera singer.

His third failure.

The tablet hit the table harder than the rest had.

_His whore._

When Amber was sixteen, she came up to Daddy and asked for a new face. But of course, Daddy paid for the whole surgery and Amber came to him a day after complaining already about how awful and disgusting she was. Rotti had taken time out of his days to comfort her, telling her she was beautiful as the day he had first seen her. Amber shouted at him afterwards, and demanded another surgery. The girl had thrown things all over the room, breaking vases and smashing plates until he agreed.

Rotti Largo has the lowest tolerance for failiure, and his vultures are nothing but the sort.

Amber was no different, even if she was his favorite of all the failures in the trio, which only meant he tolerated her the most "Amber Sweet, the daughter of GENEco." He scoffed loudly that time. He glanced over each photo of Amber Sweet, and it was all the same, like it always had been before and always would be.

Most photos captured of Amber Sweet, these showed her injecting Zydrate straight to her arm, or already strung out from the effects of the drug itself. She had a new face in each one, a new set of cheeks or a fresh face lift. Disgusting, all of her was, and yet he kept paying. She could at least be grateful he didn't have her poisoned too. What a waste Amber Sweet was, and he threw those tablets away too.

The man of GENEco, the very image, was exhausted of running the world. He leaned back in his chair, a groan low in his throat, and folded his hands over his face. Rotti shut his eyes so tightly, he almost willed himself to sleep.

Rotti was tired of his children failing each and every moment of their lives, he was tired of Nathan Wallace, he was tired of graves and of singing. He was tired of it all.

He _hated_ them all.


End file.
